


Firsts

by AgentStannerShipper



Series: tumblr ficlets [75]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dinner Parties, Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 15:05:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19231555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: Anathema wants to know how Crowley and Aziraphale met.





	Firsts

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt about Aziraphale explaining how he and Crowley met to the humans of Good Omens.

One of Crowley’s favourite intangible human inventions was the concept of “fashionably late.” There was something incredibly funny to him about the idea that humans could get together in a way that openly admitted “yes, I would like to waste your time as a host because I can’t be bothered to get there when you request” and was returned with “I understand completely, I would prefer you waste my time rather than simply lying to you about what time I really wish you to be there so you get there when I actually would like.” It made him laugh. He employed it often.

Never with Aziraphale, though, not if he could avoid it, which was why he was actually a little flustered as he pulled up to Jasmine Cottage doing sixty over the speed limit, coming to a halt so fast the tires skidded and smoked. He stalked up the front path, pushing his sunglasses higher up the bridge of his nose and eyeing the horseshoe over the door with disdain, surprised when he crossed under it without so much as a flash of heat. He glanced up again, and from the new angle noticed a sigil etched into the metal, so neatly it could only have been done by magic. He smiled.

Accepting the dinner party invitation had been Aziraphale’s idea, not his, but the angel had said it was only right to go, given the recent near-ending of the world. Humans bonded over that sort of thing, he’d said, and anyway they probably owed them a bit of an explanation. Crowley had been all for leaving them to wonder, but Aziraphale had given him a soft, hopeful expression and Crowley’s resolve had crumbled.

He could hear voices from the kitchen as he stepped inside, although the view was blocked by a large cabinet. Too many voices for so small a house, and several of them probably too young to acceptably be at a dinner party without their parents, unless reality warping was involved. Crowley stifled a snort, and then paused as the actual conversation became clear.

“No, my dear, when I say we’ve known each other forever, I actually do mean it,” Aziraphale was saying. “Well, perhaps not _truly_ forever, but since the beginning of the world, at any rate.”

There was silence. Then a young woman – Anathema, Crowley thought – said slowly, “So, when you were going on about the serpent and the apple tree…”

“Yes, precisely!” Crowley could hear the beam in Aziraphale’s voice. “I was the Angel of the Eastern Gate, on guard duty, and somehow he got in – not past me, I shouldn’t think,” he added hurriedly, and he was right, because Crowley hadn’t even had to pass an angel to get in, what with Hell and tunnelling up from the ground, “but he did get in, and he told Eve to eat the apple-“

“Hang on,” Crowley interrupted, rounding the corner and leaning against the counter with folded arms. “I never said she _had to_ eat the apple. I just pointed out that it was a bit stupid to make such a show of the whole thing. Apple, big ‘no touch’ sign. I didn’t even say she _should_ eat it. I just asked what the harm was. I didn’t know.” He’d had six thousand years now to reflect on it. He was pretty sure, in retrospect, that he’d done the right thing. It didn’t worry him like it used to. He gave Aziraphale a pointed look, “And anyway, I wasn’t the one who gave war to humans, was I?”

Aziraphale looked askance. “I _did not_ -“

“You gave them the flaming sword that became the weapon of War, though,” Crowley pointed out, sauntering across the room and dropping into the last empty chair, crammed in at the table next to Aziraphale’s. “Bit of a coincidence, don’t you think? What was that quote about paved roads and good intentions?” He grinned at Aziraphale, who glared at him right up until Crowley threaded their fingers together under the table. Then he broke into a sappy smile again. Crowley leaned into his shoulder and glanced around the room.

The humans were all staring at them, mouths figuratively and in some cases literally agape. The four children, clustered at their end of the table, seemed less affected, watching more with curiosity. Adam even smiled.

Anathema was the one who recovered her wits first. Clever, that one. Crowley had a nagging suspicion he was going to like her. “Hang on,” she said. “So, you,” she pointed at Crowley, “were the serpent in the garden of Eden. The actual reason why God cast humanity out of paradise.”

“Er, yes,” Crowley admitted. “Sorry?”

“And you,” Anathema pointed at Aziraphale, “gave humans that flaming sword thing from the airbase, the one the…red woman was carrying? And she’s War, and you gave _Adam and Eve_ a sword.”

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale said. He looked faintly embarrassed. “It seemed the right thing to do at the time.”

“Right.” Anathema looked between them again. “Sorry, and _how_ does this relate to the way you met?”

“Oh!” Aziraphale perked up, and Crowley resisted the urge to roll his eyes fondly. “So you see,” the angel explained, “after that whole bit with the apple and the sword, first rainstorm and all, God casting them out, we met on the wall.”

“The wall?”

“Surrounding Eden,” Aziraphale said. “I was watching, you know, worried, and Crowley came up to watch too, and we got to talking-“

“You got to talking?” Newt, who had been doing an excellent impression of what computers did whenever he touched them, finally came back online. “If you’re really an angel and a demon, shouldn’t you have fought or something?”

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged looks. Under the table, their laced fingers tightened around each other. “Didn’t really seem necessary,” Crowley said. “Didn’t have any orders to. Not really my style, anyway.”

“Nor mine,” Aziraphale agreed. He wasn’t smiling anymore, but there was a softness to his features. Crowley leaned into him a little more heavily. Aziraphale looked at Anathema. “Anyway, that was how we met. In Eden.”

“We debated Good and Evil,” Crowley murmured. He was half on Aziraphale’s lap by that point, but he could blame it on the close quarters. “It was a good first date.”

“It was hardly a first date,” Aziraphale said. “Our first date was the Ritz last week.”

“Last week?” Crowley straightened up, snorting with glee. “Angel, we’ve been dating for _thousands of year_ s. I saved _Hamlet_ for you! We got _oysters_ at a _gay bar_ in _Rome_.”

“Yes, but-“

“Just because we were too stupid to call them that doesn’t mean they weren’t.”

Aziraphale blinked, like he hadn’t considered that, and Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Oh,” Aziraphale said, and then smiled. “Well then. I believe you’re right. Eden was a rather good first date.”

Anathema mumbled something that sounded like _answers that question then_. She blushed a little when she caught Crowley looking and cleared her throat loudly. “So, who wants some more salad?”

Crowley grinned. Under the table, he squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. After a heartbeat, Aziraphale squeezed back.


End file.
